undertow
by scribblingnellie
Summary: Greg Lestrade's trying to convince himself that nothing happened at the wedding. So why can't he stop thinking about Molly Hooper? A companion piece to 'plus one'. Many thanks for reading.


So what had happened?

Pulling the car up outside, cutting the engine, Greg leaned back against the headrest, hands gripping the steering wheel. Two days since the wedding and he still couldn't shift the thoughts from his head. He was trying to convince himself that it'd just been the whole atmosphere of happy couples and the dancing and all the love and romance that had confused him.

But things he hadn't noticed at the time – how close their chairs ended up, how his arm found its way across the back of her chair – wouldn't stop replaying in his mind. Letting go of the wheel, Greg opened his door and climbed out. Unusually warm for a spring evening, he left his coat on the passenger seat. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket as he walked around the car, grasping the half empty packet. As he lit up his fifth cigarette of the day, he leaned back against the passenger door, staring down at the pavement.

It wasn't working. Trying to convince himself that he'd just imagined it all was not working. Not when it'd kept him awake most of the night in his hotel room, not when he'd said goodbye to her the day after and found himself again caught in those wonderful eyes. It definitely wasn't working now, gathering his courage together as he stood outside Barts.

She'd looked away.

Molly Hooper had never looked away from him before, not like that; like she was embarrassed to have been caught. Her gorgeous brown eyes had looked straight into his, a small hint of a smile tugging at her lips. But then she'd ducked her head down, and took her eyes away from his. Too surprised to react, Greg had tried to push his suddenly confused thoughts away as everyone carried on around them as though nothing had happened.

But he'd felt it. The jump his heart gave as they held each other's eyes. In those few seconds as she quickly turned away from him, a slight blush to her cheeks, Greg had wanted to let his arm drop from her chair to her shoulder, to touch her, to feel her there beside him.

And then he'd looked away. His attention was back on Sherlock because, bloody hell, they weren't the sort of thoughts he should've been having about Molly. They were friends, and she was engaged.

Making it through the rest of the speech (what there was of it), he became caught in the events that followed, taking Sherlock's lead as he sometimes found himself doing. It was only when he was handing the cuffed photographer over to the local police, as they were leading him off, that Greg found those thoughts forcing their way back out.

Because there Molly was, waiting patiently in the hotel lobby; waiting for him. They talked as they made their way back into the function room. He felt their sides brush and his heart stop and start a few times when she smiled at him. Chatting, waiting for John and Mary's first dance, Greg didn't want to push his thoughts away; standing beside her made his fingers want to reach out and tangle themselves with hers. She was clever and caring and beautiful and he knew what he was feeling for her.

But that one look from her over to Tom, those beautiful, gentle, deep eyes focusing on her fiancé, and Greg had come crashing back to reality. Having finally realised that he wanted to take the chance to be with Molly Hooper, that chance was long gone.

Startled by his beeping mobile, Greg snapped his mind back to the present and reached inside his jacket pocket.

_Hi. Are you on your way over? Harris results are ready. M_

And the force of those thoughts, those feelings, returned; his heart thudded and he felt his stomach drop to his knees. Taking one last drag on the cigarette, pushing himself off the car to stub it out in the nearby bin, Greg breathed in deeply. Courage, calm.

_Just arrived. On my way up now. G_

_Good. Need a friendly face. M_

He stared at her text as he headed inside. Something had happened; her messages weren't usually so short and to the point. The lift opened on the fourth floor and he found himself striding towards the lab door at the far end of the corridor. Something had definitely happened.

Pulling up in the open doorway, Greg caught his breath. Hunched over the table, the folder of papers spread out in front of her, Molly was staring down at her phone.

Softly, he moved towards her. 'Hey.'

Lifting her head up, her eyes looked straight into his. His heart ached at the sight, tears gathered in the corners of her beautiful brown eyes.

'Oh, god, Molly?'

And his arms were around her as she pushed herself up from the stool and stepped straight into him. She felt warm and soft and she was shaking.

'Molly? What's happened?'

A small hiccup and she pulled back from him, her hands moving round to rest on his chest. Greg could feel her through his shirt, his heart tightening at her touch.

She drew in a shaky breath. 'Tom and I split up...'

Shit. That was... that wasn't what he expected. He couldn't think; his mind went blank. Suddenly realising that he was actually still holding her in his arms, Greg stepped back, letting his hands rest on her forearms.

'... I'm so sorry.' Squeezing her arm, he reached a hand up to brush the hair back from her face. 'What happened?'

'We talked... I told him I couldn't. I...'

Shaking her head, Molly brought it to rest on his chest. Greg could think of nothing but the feel of her against him; her hair tickling his cheek as it caught on his stubble, her breath hot through his shirt onto his skin. His arms found their way back around her, his heart trying to hammer itself out of his chest.

Bloody hell.

* * *

><p><strong>So chapter 2 of <em>plus one<em> morphed its way into something different to what I was expecting! I've decided to post it as its own story. Many thanks for reading!**


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